


1347

by TruebornAlpha



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Black Plague, Body Horror, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Flirting, Found Family, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Graphic Description of Corpses, Historical, Homecoming, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Loss, Love, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26141077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: The Black Death has arrived in Genoa and the Old Guard tries to help what's left of Nicky's home. A short tale of love, loss, and hope in the pandemic.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova & Quynh | Noriko, Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 23
Kudos: 111





	1. Incubation

It took him nearly two hundred and fifty years after he’d stopped killing the love of his life, to see Genoa. The first Yusuf knew of her was her gleaming seas, with waters so blue he was certain they’d been stolen the sky. The second was how she made Nicolo smile, radiant with gratitude, warmed by awe and disbelief. By now, Yusuf had thought he’d learned every one of his partner's smiles. He would be humbled for his assumption, but he would double his efforts to catalog and incite each one.

They’d been across the known world. When it was just the two of them, they’d traipsed across Aleppo and Tartus, spent the most time in Damascus, then Tunis where Yusuf heart broke for all that no longer was, Baghdad, where Nicolo first asked him to dance, and Cairo, for a few moons simply because they could. Between those they made home in places that blurred and roads with no name until they met the rest of their family and learned that home could be more than walls or city states.

Andromache and Quynh took them farther east than they’d ever been, through dense jungles and rocky mountains more often than not, but their city boy ways made sure they stayed in Ghazni, then Kathmandu, until they went north enough that home could only be gers and the endless sky. From there, they followed the Silk Roads until there was nothing but open sea.

“Welcome to the end of the world,” Andromache had said, jaded even in this.

(Two hundred years later, flushed pink and half-blind with drink, Nicolo would yell, “The earth is round, Andromache. It is ROUND!” And point an accusing finger at her until Quynh laughed so hard she fell off her stool.)

Then they turned back around and went everywhere the boys hadn’t been yet.

They had centuries together. In all their time together, Nicolo had never looked quite like this. He’d never been willing to come back before either. So Yusuf tangled their fingers together, stared across the green, green hills of Genoa's spring, and the colorful houses that dotted her waterfront, and decided they would stay. For a while.

* * *

There was no one to welcome Nicolo home, not after so long, but they walked where his manor once stood and talked to the air by gravestones they could no longer read. They visited the church his lover once watched over, and Yusuf said a prayer of thanks, if not for the circumstances then for Allah’s kindness in allowing them to meet.

Though they'd been downed by starvation and exposure, they had never wanted for money in the way of those who lived for only decades. This time, Yusuf put his foot down and insisted they were wanting for soft beds and softer blankets, and when Andromache called _them_ soft, Yusuf agreed vehemently. She relented and they found a home, one storey and two bedrooms, a decent walk to the city proper or a quick ride. Quynh would laugh, but she was the most likely to bring back shiny baubles to line their shelves, and clothing to fill chests they’d never needed before. Genoa liked to think of herself as the center of the world, and with so much commerce and the hustle and bustle in her busy ports, no one looked twice when a man like Yusuf walked next to a woman like Quynh with a local boy between them and their fearless commander leading the way.

After a year, Yusuf opened a corner store by the pier, threw his doors open from sunrise to sunset and sold rich spiced coffee, made from Turkish beans. In another life, he’d been a merchant, and though not quite like this, there was enough familiarity to make him a kinship with the business. Taking inventory was eerily similar across industries, as was the need to greet customers with a smile, the time of day be damned.

It was his venture first, but a family affair all the same. Quynh designed his storefront and terrace and never lifted a calloused finger to help. Nicolo ate anything they put in front of him, and Andromache was far more invested in his menu than anyone would have thought she'd be. His favorite was always the classics, brewed from a pan filled with hot sand, in a small brass cezve and served with far too much sugar.

“I call it a Cup of Yusuf.” He introduced with a grin.

“I thought you wanted more customers than Nicolo,” Andromache answered, that ass. Nicolo would assure him he was very funny later.

They named their little store, quite simply, Kafe. It was self-explanatory, Yusuf thought. There was a bluntness to it that was probably French.

* * *

Afterwards, laying beneath the stars on the roof of their home, Nicolo's head pillowed on his belly, the world stood still for them. Yusuf asked, "Has it changed much since you were last here?"

Nicolo huffed, paragraphs written in a single gust of air. Those who said his lover was unemotional never took the time to know him. Yusuf would pity them, had he cared enough to spare thought to those who didn't matter. He had his hair in Nicolo's hands and eternity beyond them. Nicolo would give him an answer when he'd decided on the best one.

"I feared the inevitable for so long, I let it happen." Nicolo said. He turned to meet Yusuf, eyes bright in the darkness. He wore grief so well, like the heroes of legend, brave and unflinching, even in his vulnerability, but nothing could shield him from this wound. "I did not expect to mourn what still thrives. I wonder if it would have been better if we'd stayed away longer.

In that moment, they breathed in all that they would lose. Time was the most relentless thief. It made concessions for neither man nor child, legend nor beast. Yusuf wondered if he should have asked more, if he should have pushed Nicolo to bring him home while his bloodline may have still remained in the city. He forced those thoughts away. They benefited no one. "I don't know, but to mourn something so deeply, you must have loved it. If it had ever brought you happiness, I am grateful for a chance to know it."

Yusuf opened his arms, and Nicolo climbed the length of his body, pressing in until he could rest his head on Yusuf's shoulder. Tiles dug uncomfortably into their backs, but not enough for either to move.

"It's strange." Nicolo said finally, gesturing up towards the sky. "It's the same as when I was a boy. I can find the same patterns and familiar lights. When I look at Genoa, I can see some of the bones of it all too. The same streets, the same churches, even if it's so much bigger now. There's pieces of these people that are mine and some that must have started in the years I've been away. It's not... it's not my home anymore."

Yusuf brought Nicky's hand to his lips. Home was a sore wound. He remembered what it had been like to stand in the center of a marketplace filled with faces he no longer recognized, in a homestead run by family who did not know his name. Even now, he yearned for the scent of the sea and the breeze scented with spice and incense, and a people he wouldn't pick him out as an outsider by sight alone. He could see the yearning on Nicolo's face and felt it too, but the grief for a home that no longer existed hurt too much. If it existed only in his memories, then he didn't have to see how it had moved on without him. "I'm sorry, my love."

They stayed until the breeze grew too cold to bear, and then they found warmth in one another.

* * *

Business at Kafe was so good, Yusuf was afraid he'd be arrested for it. He did his diligence and set aside 20 percent before he could get to cocky. All things considered, it made for a nice change of pace.

They had regulars. The priest with his starched collar dropped by in the morning, always the first to order (Father something or other, Sigfried? Sabini?). Yusuf let Nicolo handle him while he set out his prayer mat. That was perhaps the first sign that his _devil's juice_ would not be the death of them. Not long after, the tailor always sent his daughter with flowers, and had ordered the same thing since Kafe opened. The baker was willing to trade his still warm wares for Yusuf’s best at lunch, and he sat with the dock master, and local merchants that routinely claimed his floor seats as the floor grew crowded. After the rush, Nicolo would leave to his almshouses and the pulpits he didn't preach from. The fishermen rounded out their afternoons but always sat outside, to move out by the call of the sunset prayer. Yusuf kept the backroom free, just in case they needed it for salat, and a splash of the green directed them home. Occasionally traveler from across the Mediterranean or far east would drop by, but everyone spoke Sabir, so they didn’t interrupt much.

It was tiring. It was wonderful. It spoke to an old life Yusuf hadn’t realized he’d missed so much, one he saw reflected in his lover’s eyes. They liked people. They thrived in a community, temporary and trivial though it may have been. Andromache and Quynh had walked the earth for so long, it sometimes felt like they no longer needed the rest of it to keep up with them. Yusuf wasn’t sure he could ever be that. This was grounding for him, with the added benefit of knowing everyone’s business whenever he wanted to.

Some gossip was more welcome than others.

“Your favorite customer is here.” Nicolo tutted, not looking up for where put away their cups. Anyone else would say he sounded pleasant. Yusuf promptly ignored his sourpuss ways.

"Giovanna!" Yusuf came out from behind the counter to give the young woman a quick hug. Nicolo offered a polite nod to his head and decidedly focused on what should have taken him three minutes at most. The eldest of the tailor's children, she was a beauty and there was no denying it. Long blonde curls, dark eyes, and a kind heart. Nicolo liked to remind Yusuf that he was fond of her, and not at all jealous.

"Good morning Yusuf! And to you Nicolo!" She was beaming. "My father sent me to pick up his order."

"I have it right here. I just ground a fresh batch." Yusuf winked and headed back behind the counter to pull out a small pouch of ground beans. She took it carefully and breathed in the scent with a happy sigh, savoring the bitter notes, cardamom, and exotic spices that Yusuf blended together.

"There's no one in the whole city who makes anything close. He cannot stop raving about it."

"It's my own special blend from Turkey. I get my shipments direct." Yusuf said proudly and Nicolo hid his own proud smile. "That reminds me, there's another shipment that's due today. I'll schedule some time to check and see if the ship has come in."

Nicolo said, putting the last cup away. "I'll take care of it."

"Ah, maybe you'll have better luck than we have, signore. My father is still waiting for a delivery of silks. It's almost a month late." She said, with genuine concern in her tone. It was her sincerity that made her so formidable. "But father's sent me to run to the docks as well, maybe I can check for you, if perhaps you'd like to accompany me, Yusuf? Save an extra trip back."

Yusuf didn't do anything as awkward as wince.

"Go on, I'll handle things here." Nicolo said, dropping an unrepentant kiss to Yusuf's cheek.

Menace.

Now Giovanna smoothed down her dress, and Yusuf adopted his most chagrined expression before digging out an extra helping of hareesa to go with her order. "I wish I could, but I promised Andromache I'd help out back. Take this in my steed. It'll be sweeter company."

She considered, and sighed, lovely like a flower in the breeze. "Next time then, signore."

"Til tomorrow, signorina." Dammit, if he didn't smile though. She laughed through a goodbye. Yusuf didn't wait until the door had closed to jab his finger into Nicolo's soft belly. "That was rude. You're _rude!"_

"Maybe." There was mischief in Nicolo's eyes and he clearly regretted nothing. "She's a lovely girl, very sweet."

"Rude and incorrigible!" There was no one around to see and Yusuf bullied Nicolo back against the counter, stealing a proper kiss that lingered. "My beloved. My heart. My earthly prince birthed from the gardens of desire. You're an absolute ass and you know it."

Nicolo just looked pleased with himself. "I have to keep your attention somehow."

"Oh, you have it. What will you do with it now that it's all yours?"

"This." He reached towards his belt... and pulled out a small scrap of parchment written in an elegant scholarly hand. "For when you check the ships, this is everything we've ordered. I wouldn't want you to forget."

Yusuf made disapproving noises at him, but looked the list over. He'd forgotten about those pistachios. "You're punishing me for her crush, is what you're doing."

"I'm punishing you for her father's crush." Nicolo corrected, but was perfectly fine with everything else. "He wants you and a coffee enema in his bloodline."

"Nicolo!" Yusuf was horrified but delighted. Crass Nicolo usually only came out after the third drink. "He just wants coffee."

"Really. You don't notice." The love of his life did not make it a question. "Not her or the governor's scribe?"

"Who? Francesco? What does he have to-"

"Or the Salvati girl, with the braids?"

"The Genoese people are very friendly." Yusuf said, and Nicolo's jaw tightened, but he was smiling, beautiful and unbelievable. Yusuf's tone softened, protesting as he reached out to cup the back of his lover's neck. "How could I ever notice anyone else when you shine so brightly?"

Nicolo scoffed, but Yusuf knew when he'd won. He took the opportunity to kiss him again just because he could. Nicolo protested reluctantly, "You are lucky that you are so cute."

"I really _am_ cute." Yusuf plucked the list from Nicolo's fingers and reluctantly pulled away. "I might as well leave. I'll be back before you get a chance to miss me, though I miss you ever moment that our hearts don't beat as one." Yusuf chuckled to himself as he caught the faint flush to Nicolo's cheeks. Even after all these years, a little poetry and his Nicky just melted.

Nicolo couldn't let him win them all though. He took his hand before Yusuf could make a proper retreat, eyes gleaming in a way that made Yusuf reevaluate everything. "Wait a few minutes at least. Giovanna might be waiting outside."

Some defeats were more welcome than others.

It took more than a few minutes. Yusuf counted himself as fortunate to have such a thorough business partner, in so many ways, but his timing paid off. Just as he turned towards the main thoroughfare, billowing white sails crossed the horizon. They reached for the sky, large swathes across the blue, and Yusuf remembered being very young and on the other side of the Mediterranean, looking at splashes of different colors coming in. The docks were already bustling. 

Two large galleons all the way from Kaffa moved to dock, one after the other, both of them weighed down with cargo from even further away. Yusuf noticed the smell before everything else. Beneath the sharp bite of the wet docks, was the sour sweet stench of rot. It got worse and worse until Yusuf was pulling his scarf over his face, unable to help himself. It took him a moment to realize what was so odd about the ships. Their sails hung limp. They weren't sailing straight towards the docks.

Smaller boats had gone out to lash heavy ropes to draw them in while dockhands secured the ships, but no one wanted to venture further. Calls to the crew went unanswered. The ship had been propelled by the currents, not human hands. Whispers started across the crowds. The second ship was still further out, being towed away. The gulls had begun circling.

Then someone screamed. A cord had come loose. On the deck of the closest ship, piled high and hidden by tarp and rope, were the bodies of the dead. They lay in uneven lines, rotted and old, skin pulled so tight over their bones that it peeled back from their teeth in a mock grimace. There were so many, some piled together like the sailors had tried to ready them for burial but had gotten interrupted, others sprawled across the deck, fallen where they'd once stood. One of the corpses slipped off deck and tumbled into the water, the people on the pier scrambled. People broke away from the crowds, fleeing, but never far enough. The chatter of the crowd pierced like knives. The ships held nothing but ghosts.

Word spread like wildfire. When Yusuf returned home to his family, he was retelling easily the third version they'd heard that day. Nicolo hung on to his words with the same pointed focus he reserved for his crossbow. For the first time in too long, Yusuf wanted to shy away from that gaze.

"And no signs of battle?" Quynh asked, her hair down in waves, already in her night clothes. If anyone walked in, such a get together would seem the height of debauchery. Quynh chewed around her peach.

"None. The sails were whole. Rigging sound. Couldn't have been an storm either. It just..." Yusuf held up his hands. "They opened the hull for her cargo. I heard it was filled floor to ceiling with bodies. The whole city is talking about it."

"Of course. Everyone enjoys a good story. You of all people know that." She said. Nicolo poured her a drink.

"We're going to need to be careful from now on." Andromache said and they all turned to look at her. Up until then she had been quiet all night.

"Do you think this is a warning?" Nicolo asked softly. "Is this an attack?"

"Or the pox." Andromache suggested, but Yusuf shook his head.

"No, I know what the pox looks like. You can see the marks a mile away." Andromache snorted in response, until Yusuf shrugged, noticeably chagrined. "But in any case, the city's already out of dutera and chamomile. I got what I could. I pulled the honey from Kafe, too. I don't want to imagine anyone... breaking into the store for it, but."

Quynh hummed, considering. "We'll just have to wait and see. Hopefully they'll take care of the bodies outside of the city."

"Is there something we could do to help?" Nicolo was always the first to ask and Yusuf leaned in closer to him. 

"I don't think we do anything yet, it is important not to draw attention to ourselves if we plan on staying here a while." Andromache warned them. 

Nicolo was the one who looked the most troubled. "I'll ask around at the almshouse at least, maybe they've heard something. They usually have travelers passing through, they might have heard of ghost ships in other cities."

"And if they haven't, we'll have one hell of a story to tell, huh?" Yusuf said, smirk lopsided enough to make Nicolo grin.

"You have too many stories as is."

"But you like them because you're in all of them." Andromache snorted. That was the last of that.

The next morning, nothing had changed. Yusuf opened his store with minimal fuss. On his way out, he accepted a kiss on the cheek from Quynh, and threatened Andromache with the same. The ghost ships were all anyone wanted to talk about. That was fine. Good gossip made for hungry bellies, and Yusuf knew how to ply his favorites with extra dessert. By the evening, rumors had spread across the city. In retelling the tales, the sailors had grown fangs and horns, while witnesses collapsing violently with sympathetic fevers. Some were reported to have danced themselves to death, explaining how the dead "jumped en masse off the deck." Some sailors stayed as ghosts and hovered over their corpses, asking for safe passage across the sea. The pox was a popular idea, but no one had started any pyres, so that was just lucky.

* * *

It didn't truly begin until weeks later, illness spreading instead of just rumor. One day, Giovanna didn't visit. Her younger sister went in her stead, and brought news of her cough. Yusuf packed dried figs with the tailor's order. She asked for a kiss to pass on so her sister would feel better, and Nicolo coughed so loud he needed to excuse himself.

It was expected in the damp and the cold of autumn. It wasn't uncommon, After the first few days, chamomile returned to a more reasonable price, but not precisely a reasonable one, and even with the tension in the air, life in Genoa went on as usual. 

One month after the first ships arrived, Giovanna's younger sister came, face blotchy from crying as she quietly picked up the order. When she whispered the news to Yusuf, he and Nicolo came around the corner to hug her tight.

"Giovanna's dead."

It wasn't fair, she was so young. Barely an adult and taking her first steps into her own life. She had everything ahead of her. Yusuf and Nicolo had seen too much death in their handful of centuries, but it always hit the hardest when it was someone so bright with a lifetime of promise stolen away.

"I should go over tomorrow to see if there's anything I could do for Giovanna's family." Nicolo said over a somber dinner. "I'm sure that their local priest has offered the family some comfort, but another set of hands might help."

"I'll come with you. We can bring some food for the family." Yusuf was quick to agree. They were good guests. In the end, all four of them were there, though Quynh was the only one who truly knew anyone of the family. Her father wouldn't stop crying. His mother was as pale as a sheet, in a high collar with black gloves that made her look like she was made of wire. They said their prayers in their respective faiths, wished the family well, and bowed their heads as the coffin closed on her. Around the flowers Giovanna held, her fingers were black as soot.

She was buried in the church cemetery, Father Sabini overseeing the procedures. There were many plots filled with upturned dirt, much too many to be normal. They had a small gathering in her father's workshop, so bleak and tired now that Giovanna was no longer there to tend the counter.

Yusuf clutched his cup like a lifeline, tried not to think about how much smaller the world had become like in the span of a few hours. He didn't notice when the Giovanna's father had slipped out of the room, but he noticed when a heavy thud slammed into the front door hard enough it rattled. He noticed when a fight broke outside the building and angry shouts filled the streets.  
  
"You brought this plague to our neighborhood! You and your family, you did this."

The tailor was bloody when Yusuf stumbled onto the streets, pulling the screaming neighbor off of him and sending him home with a shove. It was only the beginning.

* * *

Two days later, two more deaths were announced, all on the tailor's block. Headscarves came back into fashion, wrapped tight around each head, and suddenly Genoa was a myriad of color in the fall. Quynh let them pick from her collection, and when Yusuf had too much of a good time, Nicolo laughed with them. They splashed red around their home, draped clothes and rugs like curtains. It wasn't the pox, but it never hurt to be careful.

Then at dinner, without warning, Andromache said, "We are leaving."

"But why?" Nicolo was the first to ask, and it was almost surprising that it was him, but Yusuf knew that the churches swelled with worshipers. While Nicolo was exceptionally stern with its leadership, he always held kindness for its flock. Faith had a funny way of walking through grief, but uneasy whispers cut through the hymns. "People need help, Andromache. Genoa is in mourning. We can do what no one else can."

"What can you do?" She challenged. "Will you pull their nets for them? Ground their wheat? Or have you developed a way to balance the humors that doesn't involve a mercury enema?"

"The looting's gotten worse." Yusuf piped up slowly. "We can do what the guards cannot. Make sure scared and angry men cannot make matters worse for anyone else."

"Scared men have always used their fear to commit atrocities," Quynh countered. "We cannot protect the world from them." It wasn't an agreement exactly, but there was a question in her eyes.

"Things are going to get worse, Yusuf. This isn't some renegade lordling or unjust war, there's nothing we can do to fight this. The best thing for all of us is to move on before this illness spreads." Andy made sense, she always did. She knew more than any of them and if anyone had seen a tragedy like this before, it was her. 

But Nicolo shook his head. "We can do more to help than just fight. This was my home, Andy. It's our home now."

"You know we can't stay for long. You can't ever make this a home like you once had, Nicky. None of us can." Her hard stance softened a little. These were hard lessons and she and Quynh had so much longer to learn them. She put a hand on Nicolo's shoulder to comfort him. 

"But we could stay a little longer. If things are going to get as bad as you think, then this might be exactly where we need to be." Yusuf said and Quynh slowly nodded.

"Andromache, if this is anything like before, it could bring the city to its knees. We're at risk, but when are we not? The rich will flee as always and there will be nothing left for these people."

She watched them place their votes one by one, considered pushing her position. The boys were still untested. They hadn't met a true disagreement yet. Not a screaming match, or drawing blood, but the sort of disagreement that broke a home. She found she didn't want this to be one.

She knew when she was outmaneuvered, but this was family. This time Andromache was willing to be a gracious loser.

Or so she thought, because at the end of the night, after she climbed into bed, Quynh kissed her shoulder, then nipped the same spot with small, even teeth. "You are sulking."

"I am not." She sulked, but let Quynh roll her back into the bed, settling against each other with a familiarity that went beyond words. "I'm worried."

"I know. Should we try to convince them again?"

It would be the smart play. They had no idea. They'd all seen illness and disease, no mortal lifetime was untouched by it and two centuries was more than enough to understand the risks. But this, if this was the same thing as before, then there was nothing else Andy had ever seen that even came close. "We can't stop this. We can't help them. This is so far beyond us, Quynh, you know that. Nothing we do is going to prevent what's coming."

And yet, did that matter? They couldn't stop it, but they could do something. 

"What do you want to do, Andy? Whatever it is, you know I'll back your decision."

She smiled and pulled Quynh into a kiss, easing her worries in the comfort of love. "We could help. Small things, ease their troubles. And if we get sick, then we live. It's smart to go, but maybe we could help just one person. It might be enough, and if it's not..."

She exhaled in a way that had Quynh tangling her fingers in her hair, those sharp brown eyes taking in everything. Andromache had never known anyone who could hide from Quynh, and she was most certainly no exception. "Are you afraid?" Quynh whispered, unnervingly close to accurate. "We've lost wars before. Sometimes those are the most important battles."

Andromache shook her head, closed her eyes. She leaned in until their foreheads touched. They were alone, but she chose to speak in a dead language, one Andy wasn't already starting to forget. They had so many to choose from. "I don't want him to see this. He isn't ready to lose his home. If this is like the illness we saw in Constantinople, then it will take everything of this place. I had hoped he wouldn't have to learn this lesson so soon."

But he was going to learn, one way or another, just like Yusuf was going to learn the weight of his easy charm and the cost of making connections. They were going to learn how fragile their identities are, how language and culture, architecture and blood were so easily dust. Their lives were fantastical, but above all, they were tiring and lonely. They were not lessons to be celebrated.

"My fury, my shield, I will never underestimate the depths of your compassion. You are justice that strives for kindness." Quynh whispered, always so good at getting past people's defenses. "I should tell Yusuf. He will write another poem about you." 

Andy growled, exasperated. "You will not."

"I shall. We don't know what this is yet, Andy. There is still a chance for hope. Your worries are keeping you up when far better things should."

"You better be talking about sex." She was blunt because it made Quynh laugh. Andy could never deny it to the other half of her soul, pulling Quynh close into a kiss. Yusuf and Nicky might have their poetry and their simmering romance, but they didn't know how deep love could truly run yet when centuries became forever. She hoped that they'd get the time enough to learn. She had to keep them safe, she had to keep all of them safe, even as they risked their immortality time and time again to help everyone else.

It was what they did. It was what they had to do. She'd lost more than she'd even remembered anymore, there was nothing left to connect her to the distant people or land that she'd come from. They were long gone, but even if this Genoa wasn't the same as the one Nicky had called home, it was still standing for now. He would lose it someday, but it didn't have to be today.

But they had each other to make it through. She smiled into Quynh's mouth and let the dire thoughts of their future drift away in the small moments of happiness.

In the coming weeks, they stood as a bulwark of calm even as the city descended into chaos. The streets emptied as the those with wealth and strength fled, and horrid tales from across the country reached Genoa, tales of the end of the world. The disease spread, the church bells rarely silent. The stench of death was inescapable and yet, Andy and her family never stopped as they fought to bring supplies into the city and kept the opportunists from preying on the desperate.

Until the day Andy found the painful lump under her arm.


	2. Infection

Whether they wanted to or not, it became a habit. Twice a day, every morning with the rising sun, and every evening with only flickering candlelight to calm their nerves, they came together. Now, Nicolo's fingers ghosted along the length of Quynh's spine, then the back of her ribs, working closer to the spot beneath her arms before lowering to the small of her back. Her hair tickled his cheek, but he was entirely focused on his task.

Sometimes, the bubos stayed beneath the skin. Sometimes, they could be spotted with a single glance, when they blackened and swelled into painful prominence. They heard so many rumors fearfully whispered in the streets it was hard to know exactly what to look for.

And they didn't know what they would do if they found anything. The idea of stopping seemed impossible, not when there was so much left to do in Genoa. His hands dragged over the back of Quynh's thighs, then the back of her knees.

Nicky breathed a sigh of relief when it was over. "Clear."

She smacked him with a dishcloth. "Only Andromache spends that much time considering my rump."

He was startled into a laugh. "I am glad someone gives it the attention it deserves." Quynh hummed in agreement. "How is she?"

Quynh shrugged, as if it was of no consequence, but there were shadows under her eyes and a tightness around his mouth that Nicky wasn't used to seeing. She fastened her robe, and started towards their small courtyard garden, knowing she would be followed. It was washed out and grey as winter settled in over the city. She wished she had a cup of Yusuf, as stupid a name as it was. "She's resting now. I was able to bring her fever down a bit, but I don't think it's over."

"I've never seen her sick like this, I didn't know it was possible. Not like this." Nicolo admitted.

"Sometimes. It's rare, but it happens. We don't know why, but when do we ever." Quynh gave him a wan smile. "It will be okay, she'll survive. Nothing can bring Andromache down for long."

"I just..." Nicolo didn't expect the dismay that spiked through him. He should have been expecting it, but the last few days were taking their toll on him. They'd gone to war for longer. He never expected to find one on familiar shores.

When he was in Genoa, this time of the year would mean a full pantry with everything they knew they wouldn't be able to have in the cold months. They should have been looking forward to Christmas. Now, they didn't have time. The mourning bells had finally stopped ringing, but only because even if they'd rang from sunrise to sunset and throughout the night, they wouldn't have been able to accommodate all those who'd died. Every plot of hallowed ground had been claimed, so the church constructed a pit, in farmland next to it. Nicolo had been there when it was first blessed by Father Sabini.

He'd been buried two days ago in that same pit. Nicolo had yet to visit.

But their business wasn't with the dead, it was with survivors. As panic spread through the city, the guard grew more desperate, then those with swords put them to use. Riots in the streets were no longer uncommon, and looting seemed the only answer to hunger. They did what they could to keep the peace, but more often than not they tried to stave off hunger. There were so few left to do business, extra hands to bring supplies in from the docks before they could be wrested away by the powerful made all the difference. They distributed what they could to those who had no other means. Nicky preferred to work through the church, because they had the widest reach. Then they made sure that help got where it was needed, regardless of creed. In these days, they all had to look out for each other.

"I wish we could do more," he said, finally.

"You're a lot like her." Quynh looped her arm through Nicky's, resigned but also so fond. "You're going to get yourself hurt, Nicky."

"Then it's a good thing I'll get better." He said, tried to feel anything but brittle behind his smile, but Quynh only squeezed his hand. "Her fever will break tomorrow. It shouldn't last longer than a day. This time it might stop."

"We can only hope." Quynh agreed, but they both looked up as the hinge of their front gate swung open.

Yusuf was bogged down with a heavy sack, his shoulders bowed with effort, his curls poking out from behind his headscarf. Nicky smiled when he caught sight of his best friend, though that was okay, because Yusuf smiled when he saw him, too.

"Sir Follet finally has more rosemary in stock," he announced. Small victories. "I have enough for a few distributions at least, and beans. Hamdullah I didn't think I'd ever be glad for beans, at least, not on the coast."

Quynh gave Nicky a little push when he didn't immediately react. It was all he needed. 

"Here, let me help you!" Nicolo was off in a moment to help Yusuf shoulder his burden. Watching the two of them together made Quynh smile. What a gift it had been to grow their family, and she couldn't have chosen better herself. Yusuf knew just how to make her laugh, he brought joy and breathed new life into every experience until it felt like Quynh and Andy were living it for the first time too. And Nicky, quiet and so kind that it made Quynh's heart ache for him. Somewhere along the way, they'd forgotten what it was like to care so deeply and so selflessly, or to believe unshakably in the goodness of others.

It made Quynh want to protect them both from the world, but glad that it had the both of them in it.

Nicolo made a grab for the heavy sack and trying to spare him the load, Yusuf tried to keep him from it so he wouldn't have to. They both grappled, trying to 'politely' help the other until they tripped on their own feet and dropped the sack on Yusuf's toe.

Quynh hid her smile.

Yusuf swore. He shot Nicolo a dirty look, and it was just as pointed as every deferential excuse and genteel rebuttal.

Nicolo couldn't help it. He laughed, and leaned in, nudging their heads together. There was a moment it seemed like his beloved would deny him, but Yusuf never did, not for long. So when Nicky swept past him, and collected his burden, Yusuf just sighed.

"You're impossible, you know that?" Yusuf grumbled. Nicky didn't have to see him to feel his smile.

"You've been out all morning. Is it too much to spare you a little grief?"

"I can a handle one sack," Yusuf complained, but Nicky was surprised, pleasantly, by a kiss to his shoulder, before his partner settled properly by his side. "I still have to make a run for the docks. Maybe our supplies will finally come in."

Nicky frowned. "I'll go with you."

Nowadays, the docks were exceptionally competitive.

Yusuf glanced back towards where Quynh had disappeared back into their house. "Is she-?"

"Unchanged." Nicky answered so he didn't have to ask the question. "Quynh is going to stay with her."

It was going to be okay. It had to be okay. They'd seen Andy survive so much worse, things that should have been impossible. They'd lived and died hundreds of times themselves. It was going to be okay.

But no one wanted the ones they loved to suffer.

"Do you want to stay?"

"No, I- it'll be better to get out. If we're here, we might as well do some good, right?" He gave Yusuf a tired smile and was rewarded with a smile that could do the sun proud.

"I love you, you know."

"I do, but I always like it when you remind me."

They never left without their faces covered now, and folded like a litham from Yusuf’s childhood home, though the cloth was different. They wrapped clumps of carnation and rosemary beneath them, right against their noses to keep out the miasma and the stench of the dead. Beside him, he could feel Yusuf fidgeting with his and knew that his nerves were shared. It had been a long time since Nicolo had needed to hold Yusuf's hand just to walk down the street, but as they made their way to city proper, he found himself reaching for him.

The streets were eerie now, quiet in a way that shouldn't have been possible in such a big city. There were too many quiet houses, their empty windows staring like sightless eyes or boarded up with wood like stained bandages.

Yusuf thought of their own home, and how Nicky was going to finish making cider tonight. Yusuf would apologize for taking a sip, and ask for extra sugar. Perhaps Andy would even be able to stomach some of it, and the swelling in her throat would go down, or they'd offer her more whiskey and honey.

It was a good thought. It was unfairly easy to lose it.

The streets were so quiet, they heard the chanting from a corner away, with the church's tower just peaking over the city roofs. It was a low, tired drone, spoken through clenched teeth, with the same solemn air of a hymn. It only grew louder as they neared, and Yusuf thought he could be forgiven for assuming mass was in session, though the timing was off, but the crowd was gathered in the church's front yard. In the center of the group were men dressed in rags, what bare clothes still clung to their emaciated bodies. They were stained and dripping, soaked in blood that spilled through the deep, weeping wounds across their back. Nicolo and Yusuf both stopped as the masses cried out in wails of pain. Too many of their audience were faces that had once been familiar to Yusuf, but grief and fear had left their mark on every one. It was difficult to see their neighbors like this, harder still to see their friends.

Yusuf turned to take them in, but stopped halfway, surprised to see the storm in Nicolo's eyes. "Who is...?"

"Flagellants." He said, jaw so tense it must hurt. His grip on their donation loosened. Yusuf took it from him without thought. He winced as the sound of leather whips slapped against skin, wet like raw meat. Blood ran down their backs as the voices rose again, calling out for divine forgiveness.

Nicky moved before Yusuf could wonder why, striding forward, almost shaking with rage as he wrenched a bloody whip from the hand of one of the worshippers. "What are you doing? How can you possibly think this helps anything?"

"This is a punishment!" One man yelled, a leading voice as the others joined in agreement, swarming to their brother's side. "This plague was sent by God because we've sinned against him. We're atoning and he will forgive us all."

"You're just hurting. That doesn't solve anything."

. A twinge of regret came when Yusuf noticed how little people seemed to disagree with this.

"We seek salvation." The man spat, but he trembled with almost ecstasy, eyes bright and cheeks flushed as if by fever. Before him, Nicolo looked no less than an angel, handsome and terrible in his fury. He towered over the man, but could not deter him. "For our sins, for the sins of the world. A price has to be paid," he praised, resting a hand on Nicolo's chest, "It is as God wills. Join us, brother. You are suffering. Give it purpose."

"And who are you to know what God wills? You think he wants blood and suffering? Look around you, the city is bleeding and suffering enough! The whole world is!"

"God demands punishment and if we're going to help save Genoa, then we're willing to take that punishment ourselves." The man snapped back, defiant. "We'll purge ourselves of this sin, we'll offer our pain up to God and he will deliver us from this plague!" He whipped himself again, the leather cutting deep into his already ruined flesh and Nicolo winced.

"You poor fools. If you wanted to help, there are so many who could use it. You could do so much good and instead, you do this." Nicolo threw the bloody whip he'd taken from one of the other flagellants to the ground. "There's a better way, with compassion and mercy instead of pain. I pray you all find it."

For a quick, irrational moment, Yusuf was sure it would come to blows. But Nicolo retreated to the church itself, a snarl between his teeth. He was spitting with anger.

Yusuf hadn't seen him this way in centuries.

With the heavy doors of the chapel between them, their voices dulled.

"I can't say I expected that." He said at length, once Nicolo's breathing no longer held that ragged edge, and his hands had unclasped enough he could drag his fingers across the back of Joe's palm. "I'd heard the tales. Never met them before."

"This would be our third meeting." Nicolo grumbled.

The church was almost empty and its silence rang in sharp contrast to the gaggle outside. Fear had driven the masses to the pews in the early days of the disease but now they were too afraid to even open their doors. The brave few who ventured out crept through the quiet sanctuary to receive their alms the priests had gathered from those with anything to spare. A cup full of spelt, a loaf of bread, a hard bit of cheese. They we just lucky that their offerings on this day were more substantial.

The scent of incense still clung to the air, centuries upon centuries of sacred rites performed in these walls. It gave it a sense of unworldliness, a sacred space filled with ancient shadows and the gleam of gold caught in streaming rainbows from colored glass.

It was a refuge for those who believed.

Yusuf missed having his own.

It brought on such a bout of bitterness that Yusuf recoiled, his hand going to the space above his heart, like he thought he'd feel it shudder. He missed the quiet calm of the prayer room, the swirl of color of stained glass that had characterized too many of his favorites, the feel of soft carpet beneath his toes. Nicolo had giant church bells to ring across the city and ancient churches so much older than even they were. If Nicky prayed in a place like this, how could God fail to hear him here? But there were no peaceful mosques or murmured prayer in a familiar tongue for him. When he prayed, he did so in the dark and hoped Allah would be able to find him. Because these people needed his prayers, even if they weren't his own.

It felt a little like heartbreak.

There were no mosques in Genoa, but more than that, he would have laughed at the idea of finding one in Genoa. No matter how much of her money came from across the seas, the city held fast to her roots, but she still gave away enough. Enough perhaps that a stranger could open a store alongside other foreigners, and be welcomed for bastardizing treats from his faraway home.

No, that wasn't quite right. Home was by his side, and hurting.

He wanted to ask. Every line of Nicolo's tense posture told him that he could probably get his answers, but they would not come easy. Yusuf was not a man who disregarded finesse for heavy-hands. "Here. Your friend's waiting," he said, handing over the sack. "I do so enjoy when I'm not reduced to a pillar of salt for visiting, but I'm not going to push my luck." Yusuf said, just a little needling.

"That's not how angels are treated."

"Nicky!"

It won Yusuf a smile, even if Yusuf left first. He gave the flagellants a wide berth. By the time Nicky caught up to him, the day didn’t seem so bleak. Adjusting his scarf, Yusuf asked, "How are they doing? What did the priest say?"

Nicolo slipped his hand into his and squeezed tight. "Not great." He admitted quietly. "There's so many sick or dead, they can't keep track. They keep trying and-" He sighed heavily and tugged the scarf up higher around his neck to try and keep out the smell of rot. “I told him we were already headed towards the docks and he asked if we could see if any of the merchants had supplies to spare. He knows it’s unlikely, but-”

"We have to try to help. Just one is enough." Sometimes that was all they could manage. It was a cruel reality, but Yusuf had learned that you couldn't set your sights on the world itself. It was the small kindnesses, the lives that would otherwise be forgotten and dismissed where they could make a change. They could find something that mattered to know one and make it matter, bring small hope that would spark and catch fire into something more.

One could be just enough, but sometimes, they got lucky.

"One is enough." Nicolo repeated, which was more than he'd normally say, but Yusuf suspected he needed to hear it today. He nudged him with his shoulder, held on that much tighter.

The slush beneath their feet crunched with each step, and the thick grooves in the dirt told him that the wagons were making their rounds again. The grave digger was becoming everyone's friend. Nicky stared staunchly forward, as if he could avoid, even accidentally, catching sight of it.

Yusuf breathed out noisily. "It's taken people all of one week to start blaming the divine. Frankly, I'm peeved at the lack of creativity."

"They don't know what else to blame. It's either God or each other." Nicky didn't mean to sound so grim, but he didn't have an answer either. This thing moved like a wildfire, faster than the pox and even more deadly. It swept through entire neighborhoods, taking families in days and leaving empty houses the desperate had begun to plunder, risking miasma and infection for food and money.

He'd seen the blackened bodies and weeping sores, but more terrifying were the ones with no mark at all. They were healthy in the morning and dead by night with no sign or symptom. What else could strike someone down besides the touch of the angel of death itself? But what had Genoa done to earn God's wrath, why were these people singled out to suffer?

And if the whole world was sick, what would be penance enough to fix it?

Nicolo didn't know what to believe. He'd turned his back on that cruel version of his God, the one who sent men across the world to slaughter and to die in his name for the glory of rich men with too much power.

"Nicky, are you alright?"

Yusuf's voice shook him out of his turmoil and he nodded, leaning into his love's space. "Sorry, lost in thought."

"Well, watch your step." Yusuf murmured, without much humor. "The docks aren't what they used to be."

It was the unfortunate truth. While the city had been eerily empty, the docks more than made up for it. It seemed like every inch of them were packed with people pushing and shoving, each trying to pay for or steal passage across one of the merchant ships. Not even the 'wrath of God' could stop commerce.

People wanted to flee the city as quickly as possible. Those who thought they could survive the winter roads had begun the miserable trek had already left, but Nicolo couldn't envy them. This seemed the only viable option.

Yusuf moved through the crowds with practiced ease, and Nicky was taken back to the crowded streets of the metropolitan cities across the Mediterranean. All he could do was hold on.

"Keep an eye out for the Infanta, maybe the Captain could set aside a little for the church with the rest of our cargo." Yusuf said. "I'd ask the dockmaster, but he's not coming back."

"Ah." Nicolo would have liked to mourn, but there were too many to mourn them all now. Someday though, he would like to say a prayer for each and every one.

They pushed their ways through the crowd, the tension rising the closer they got to the ships. Nicolo looked out over the gaunt faces, drawn thin with hunger and fear. Most wore scarves over their faces, some torn and filthy, others cut from fine cloth. Money didn't matter anymore, those with coin enough to leave the city had left weeks ago. Now, the ones left crowded onto the docks, trying to get their hands on whatever goods and foods managed to make it into the city.

Through it all, the sickly rot of death. They couldn't dig pits fast enough for all the bodies. There were too many to burn, and the poorest of the poor dropped dead in the street with no one to care for them. They were loaded onto ships to drop into the sea and Nicolo could see the corpse vessels still hauling their grim cargo aboard.

He turned away so he didn't have to see the bodies bobbing in the harbor itself, washed closer to the city with the tide.

Nicky stopped only when he realized Yusuf had slowed. Looking back, he caught his partner staring towards the dark store front of Kafe. The curtains were pulled closed, and from here, Nicolo could make out the closed sign Yusuf had hand-painted so many months ago. He squeezed their joined hands. He wanted to apologize, but he couldn't say for what. Everything felt half-hearted at best, insufficient when his heart beat a step out of rhythm.

"I thought..." Yusuf started, shook his head. "I thought we'd have more time."

Nicolo leaned in close, offering a silent sort of comfort as they looked at the closed shop. "We can start again. Time is the one thing we always have."

It helped, just a little. It didn't take away the sting of the loss, but Nicolo was right. They could reopen, they could rebuild. They'd have that luxury, even if so many others didn't. Yusuf still hadn't looked away.

Nicky tipped his head back, two fingers under Yusuf's jaw, and drew him closer. He pressed a kiss to his forehead, in the middle of the crowded dock, and regretted nothing.

The world was ending. They could take a few risks.

Towards the docks, the Infanta was ridiculously easy to spot. It was being swarmed. The hungry pressed closer to the ships, shoving and elbowing, voices raised as they called out to the sailors. The few remaining guards tried to keep them back as the sailors worked to unload the supplies from their stores, doing their best to protect the few barrels and sacks they'd managed to bring into the city.

There was no captain present, but Nicolo frowned, as he watched someone from the crew reach out to the crowd.

The crowd moved like a single entity, in as perfect motion as a wave crashing towards the shore. Each push followed a movement in perfect synchronization, and it seemed like no one was left behind. Nicky knew better. At the edge of the dock, where desperate hands reached for the hull of the ship, the pattern stumbled, and the crowd pushed back on each other. There was always someone caught in the crossfire. Nicky saw one of the sailors pulled by the crowd and almost pulled from his post by the ship. He fell and they didn't stop.

"Hang on," Nicky gave Yusuf's hand a squeeze before shouldering his way through the crowd. The sailor hadn't resurfaced yet, but Nicky could see the bob of his shoulders as he tried. He didn't notice that the mood was poised to turn until it was too late.

There was no single word that set the crowd off, no single act. Just a roar of sound from hungry, terrified people surging forward. The ships weren't unloading quickly enough, there wasn't enough to go around. Nicolo was ripped away from Yusuf with a shout, carried along with the crowd.

He caught an elbow to the head, stunning him senseless. Yusuf yelled for him, but he couldn't seem to get his feet under him.

Someone screamed and it carried, picked up in the crowd as they shoved and fought, tearing at each other to get to the meager supplies.

It was like a wave of movement rose onto the boat. Nicolo watched in horror as the crowd stormed the ship, trying to tear through cargo and crates, trying to find safety on board that they thought wasn't available on the pier. All he could do was scramble, trying to find his footing.

He wasn't fast enough.

Nicolo tumbled to the ground and the crowd washed over him. Pain shot through his back, his chest. His arm twisted and snapped, and Nicolo screamed for them to stop, howled for them to let him go. He tried to roll away. Impact to his skull left him reeling. His vision blurred, colors spilling together as blackness dotted his side. And he could scream no longer.

The wood beneath his feet creaked and groaned, weather worn and bending under the weight of too many panicked people. There was a loud crack and more screaming as part of the pier collapsed and suddenly, Nicolo was plunged into the water below.

It was so cold that he instinctively gasped, water filling his lungs as the flailing of arms and legs held him under. Heavy skirts and winter coats dragged down the people above him, forcing him down into the depths of the harbor. He coughed, fighting with his failing consciousness to claw himself through the writhing mass of bodies back towards the surface. Living hands and the rotting, bloated hands of the dead that had drifted back on the tide held him down, faces silently screaming for help, jaws already rotted off and eyes eaten by fish.

There was blood in the water. A splash of crimson curling through the murky depths. Nicky's eyes stung, but he forced them open. Through the effervescing water were haunted faces. They stared at him, eyes wide and glassy, pale like bone, hands outstretched, and Nicolo felt panic threaten to burst through his chest with his screaming lungs. The sailor he’d been trying to reach flailed beside him, dragged down by the weight of all the other bodies as Nicky tried to grasp him.

Something grabbed him from the depths. Small hands clawed at his legs, pulling him down, and he thrashed and thrashed, the pressure in his chest pounding until his mouth and nose were forced open to icy water.

_YUSUF!!_

He spasmed, gone numb. Drowning was agony. The pain started behind his ribs and shocked his whole system.

As the world went black, Nicolo's last thought was of home.

* * *

Life forced its way through his veins like a hammer. Nicolo gasped, doubling over before he was violently sick, hawking up a lungful of sea water. He was shaking. Once he noticed, he couldn't stop, but there was also a hand on his back, rubbing through his damp clothes, and Yusuf's voice was soft and strained, trembling with the chill.

"You're okay. You're okay, you're okay, Nicolo you're safe-"

Nicky groped blindly for Yusuf, digging into his arms and wheezing. He coughed, lungs burning and the screams still ringing in his ears. He couldn't-, he'd been drowning...

"Nicky! Nicky, I'm here. I'm right here."

Wide eyes searched Yusuf's face, panicked for a moment before he realized the danger had passed. He took a shaky breath and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He could still feel the others grasping at him, the living and the dead both dragging him down.

"What happened, where are we?"

"Home. The pier collapsed, I found you and brought you home." Yusuf didn't give too many details and Nicky noticed, grateful for the consideration.

"How many?"

Yusuf hesitated.

"Joe, please."

"It was bad, my love. We tried, so many people tried. We saved as many as we could, but I wasn't going to leave until I found you."

Yusuf's curls still dripped into his collar, his eyes still too bright and too wild, but his fingers were gentle as he carded them through Nicky's hair. Yusuf settled beside him, bracing him until Nicky was half on top of him. Nicky pressed in closer, blindly seeking his warmth, and rolling until he could hide his face in his clavicle.

"I thought..." Yusuf's voice hitched, then he was hiding in Nicolo's hair. Nicky reached up to slide his cold hands under Yusuf's shirt. They warmed around his hips. A shudder passed through them both, and Nicolo breathed it out with a sigh. It was only when they settled that Yusuf could speak again. "You went under. I didn't know what to do. I looked and looked. I was afraid you'd been swept out to sea."

Nicolo shivered at the thought. Yusuf's touch chased away the ghosts that still lingered in his skin and the horrors whenever he closed his eyes. It had all been so sudden. There'd been so much death.

With a soft sob, he buried his face into Yusuf's shoulder and let the tears come. For the horrors of being dragged down, for the dying and the dead, for the fact that he walked away and so many didn't. For the bloated bodies and the empty eyes that he could see every time he blinked. For the fact his city was dying around them and none of them could save Andy.

"I'm so sorry." Yusuf kissed his neck and held him close, rocking them gently. "I'm so sorry. I have you now, it's going to be okay."

Nicolo had no good reply, but his lover didn't demand one. He pressed his face into Yusuf's shoulder, and didn't let go. He didn't think he ever would.

* * *

For the first time in weeks, Andromache was clear headed. As her mind came back to herself and she could take stock of herself, the weakness, the ache that settled beneath her skin.

It was a damn nuisance.

"Only you could wake up angry, Andromache."

A soft hand cradled her cheek, and she couldn't help but break out into a smile. Andromache quickly replaced it with her most dangerous scowl... and crossed her eyes. Quynh laughed. "You are the worst sick person I've ever met."

Andromache scoffed, but didn't disagree. She'd fought a thousand battles, she'd been cut down and poisoned and stabbed and hanged. She'd died every conceivable death, but there was little that was worse than being sick. A lingering death dragged the process out and even with their incredible healing, it could devastate. And it fucking hurt. "I hate this."

"I know." Quynh dropped a quick kiss to her love's flushed forehead. "I think you might be through the worst of it. You've only stopped breathing a few times over the last day or so." She meant to be teasing, but she couldn't hide the tension in her voice or the worry that lurked in the corners of her smile.

That was disquieting. Andromache tried to sit up, and found she simply couldn't. There was no strength left for leverage, no resilience in her arms. Honest dismay cut too close to the surface before she steeled her expression. "How many times?"

Quynh would not coddle her, but there was no joy in her smile. "Three."

Andromache forced herself not to react. Three times. Three.

"What's wrong?" Quynh asked, already reaching for something by the bed. Andy didn't turn to see what it was.

"I only remember the first time." She whispered. She didn't think she imagined Quynh's regret.

"You were delirious for most of it. Somewhere we could not reach."

"And the boys?" Her attention immediately turning to her family. Even weak and exhausted from her own battles, her first instinct was to protect.

"Fine for now. Doing what they can to help in the city, though it's been hard. They haven't given up." Quynh's mouth twisted.

"Good." She had strength enough for that touch of pride. Her family was defiant to the end. "I've got kick this thing's ass, I don't want to spend the whole time on my back being useless."

"So stubborn." Quynh laughed and laced their fingers together gently, taking great care not to move Andy too much. "You do need to get better, you haven't bathed in a long time. Your stench alone should drive the miasma from the house."

"Romance is dead." Andromache said, completely deadpan, and they both broke into smiles.

Quynh leaned forward, pressed their heads together. The scent of decay still clung to her lover's skin, the lingering mark of illness stamped more insistently than her pale cheeks and bright eyes, but Quynh would not give up. "We predate such nonsense."

She succeeded in drawing out another smile, and was proud for it. It did not last as long as Quynh would have liked.

"It's not easy being on this side either." Andromache whispered. "I thought watching you had been the worst of it, last time."

Last time - Quynh suppressed a shudder. Long before they'd even met the boys, that had been its own horror. Quynh didn't dare squeeze her fingers. Her Andromache was fragile in a way that seemed blasphemous to suggest. It made her chest ache. She didn't remember it spiraling as quickly as this. "This is at least not as itchy as the pox." It was obvious Andromache was just trying to make her laugh and why waste all that effort? Quynh chuckled and brushed the damp, greasy hair from Andy's face. "Might be grosser though."

"How bad is it?"

"You're lucky you're so beautiful."

"Damn right." Andromache's voice softened, edged with something that could almost be sad. A quiet little vulnerability that she trusted to Quynh's gentle hands. She didn't have to put her fear into words or her pain. They'd ridden the world together for so long that Quynh could hear it in the tone of her voice and in the dark of her eyes.

"I'm here." Some words you needed to say, just because they needed to be heard. "I love you. I'm going to take care of you and we'll get through this."

"It will be over soon." Andromache murmured, but her eyes were heavy. The weight in her chest was slowly deepening. "It always is."

Quynh put a hand to her cheek, and said nothing about the heat rising beneath her skin. A ruckus at the front of her house spared her the need to lie.

She got to her feet, and crossed into the main room just in time to see Yusuf drag Nicolo through the front door. They were soaked to the bone. Nicky was practically blue.

There was a story there for later, but first they needed hot water and blankets.

They spent the evening huddled together in front of the hearth. Yusuf told them a dramatic re-imagining of that afternoon, with one of the merchant ships sinking into the pier before he moved on to pretty tales from places he'd never visited and Nicky stuck his icicle toes under every unprotected hip. There was soup for Andromache, and the promise of more in the morning.

They were a family again for the first time in what felt like ages. Surrounded by death and disease, they answered with hope and maybe even a little laughter. When the candles burned low, they headed to bed, Quynh settling next to Andy and Yusuf in the next room with Nicolo in his arms.

They was no true warning. When the morning came, Quynh was already dead.


	3. Convalescence

"There he is!"

The whole Kafe erupted into cheers as Yusuf set down a platter of fried bread dipped in honey and covered in dried fruit. They saluted him with steaming mugs of coffee or wine as Yusuf did his best to wave them off.

"It's curtesy of our friend, Signore Giuseppe Pane, the baker down the street."

The crowd yelled their appreciation again and someone started to sing, a deep and voice that Yusuf knew all too well. He shot a look at Nicolo who just winked and kept singing as the entire Kafe joined in on a rowdy song of celebration and thanks that shook the window shutters. Even Andy got in on the singing, though Quynh winced a little at sitting so close to her enthusiastic rendition.

"A toast to Paolo and Nina on your upcoming wedding and to Yusuf for throwing such a party." Another man called out as the young couple on the spot blushed at the attention.

He'd known them for little under a year, and already knew Nina was going to bowl him over and Paolo would thank her for it.

"A toast to Paolo's father, who will pick up the tab!" He was greeted by catcalls and boos, and cackled through them all, making his way back to the kitchens.

There was a pair of ornery grandfathers in the corner, skin like leather and eyes like the ocean, who said all the things Nicky wouldn't let Andy say out loud, and none of his delightful family moved to help Yusuf bring out yet another tray of drinks.

He resolved to serve them last, but Nicky made eyebrows at his carafe and reminded them both that Joe was a weak, weak man.

Kafe's doors were thrown open, tempting both the ocean breeze and the fading sunlight, and soon, the lanterns wouldn't be enough to keep their guests, but for now, this moment was perfect.

Music was struck up in the little room and the singing started again. Tables were pushed back as people sprung to their feet and started to dance. It was chaotic and loud, but everyone was laughing as they whirled and clapped. Andy held her hand out to Quynh who grabbed it and all but dragged her out onto the floor.

"Nice job, Al-Kaysani." Nicolo slid in close beside him, watching their neighbors and their family celebrate. "I'd say your Kafe is a hit."

"We just got lucky." Yusuf said, though he felt like he was glowing from the compliment. Any time that he could impress his Nicolo, he still felt like a young boy winning a smile from his first crush. "Your hometown is a very welcoming place."

"How could anyone not want you to be a part of their lives?" He took Yusuf's hand and bumped his shoulder against his partner's. "Would you like to dance with me?"

And Yusuf couldn't speak with how much he loved him. He would remember that night for a long time, the steady weight of his lover's arm around his waist, the easy turn of a too quick dance step, Nicky's smile, lopsided and painfully handsome. He would try to recreate it in ink and paint and charcoal many times over. In 1347, he hadn't quite realized how important it would be to him, but he already carried it with him.

Nicky hadn't stopped humming.

His wide blue eyes were glazed over now, bright with fever, but like this, his smile was genuine. Yusuf wiped his brow with cool cloth and received no response.

"What are you singing, Nicky?" Yusuf murmured and his voice was enough to finally catch Nicolo's attention. Yusuf's words always led him back home and he fixed his pale eyes on his love's face and smiled.

"You look worried?"

"I'm alright, my heart." Yusuf brought Nicky's hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. "How are you feeling?"

"Better if you'd dance with me."

Yusuf let out a shaky break, feeling his heart sink a little. He forced a smile and brushed the sweaty strands of hair from Nicolo's face. "Of course I'll dance with you, I love dancing with you in my arms."

"You're always so light on your feet. Everyone's always jealous of us, they all want to dance with you too."

"If they are jealous, it's simply because I have you in my arms."

Nicky looked away, his grin lopsided in a way that told Yusuf he was being bashful, even if he didn't need to be. He was the most wonderful person Yusuf knew. Then his shoulders seized.

Nicky started coughing, curled on his side. Yusuf rubbed his back, helped him bend until he could coax him to stop, and Nicky laid back, quiet but unnaturally so.

There was an awful swelling that spread down his throat, forced him to lean forward consistently. Fleshy and warm to the touch, Yusuf hated how much it hurt him.

"You're going to be okay, Nicky." He murmured, words slipping into something older and closer to their roots. "Just hold on. I'm going to be right here taking care of you, all of you, we're going to get through this."

"My brave, beautiful Yusuf." If he didn't know any better, he could swear that there was a new clarity to Nicolo's look. "We're going to be okay."

"You're suffering and I can't make it stop!" Frustration bubbled up and Yusuf bowed his head, the anger and the grief welling up inside until it threatened to burst. "I can't do anything, I can't help you."

"There's other people who need help. You know we'll be okay, Yusuf. This isn't going to kill any of us, it's not our time. I can feel it."

"You're asking me to leave you?"

A stab of guilt shot through him, afraid he was being blamed for his decision, but Nicky didn't reply.

In a few seconds, Nicolo was humming again, his handsome half-smile directed at something Yusuf couldn't see, and Yusuf knew it made him cruel to wish that he could be where his beloved was. It was lonely without him, and it was lonely without his family. They no longer spoke to him, lost in their own memories and fever dreams, and he missed them all dearly.

For now, he pulled his blanket up to Nicky's chin, and tried to find solace in a building that had become as familiar as his favorite song, but Yusuf knew better. For years now, home had not been a place. It had been his family.

A twinge of regret nipped at his heels. He could hunker down. He had enough supplies to last them the winter, more if he rationed. Their pantry wasn't filled but it was sufficient, and they all knew the bite of lean years well enough to adjust, even with the sickness.

But they'd never run from a fight. Not when they thought they could get in a few good hits. Not when they could still make a difference.

This was what they'd been given immortality for, and what Nicky had had asked him to do. He would never disappoint his love.

"Rest, I'll be back to check on you again soon." He said and kissed Nicky's sweaty forehead. He checked on the others, Andy resting almost peacefully now but Quynh shivering so hard he was afraid she'd hurt herself. Yusuf wrapped her more tightly in her blanket as well, dribbling a little cool water past her lips to try and coax her to drink.

Then he pulled his ragged coat on and braved the blast of cold air as he stepped out into the barren streets. He could check on the church, Nicky's church. Even if there was nothing he could do he would try. It was enough to try.

Winter had blanketed the city in white, covering weeks of half-hearted slush and black ice and leaching color from the world. With nothing but a blank slate before him, he felt like the only man left in the world.

Yusuf considered leaving his scarf at home. He lived with the plague. It would come closer or drag him down, and the sharp bite of hysteria threatened to rend the flesh from his bones. He fended it off, just barely, and put in fennel and rosemary with his folds scarf. They'd run out of roses and carnations long ago. Yusuf didn't think any more would be delivered.

He visited the church first, but was only greeted by the dark windows of an empty building. No one had been in the yard since the snow fell. 

Only a week ago, there had still been candles burning in the church, each a flickering prayer for hope and salvation. Only a few days ago the priest had offered forgiveness and absolution to those who'd come here for help, the food and supplies they'd given in the weeks before long gone. Now, even these doors were closed. Yusuf wondered if those who'd come begging for food had found their peace. Death could look awfully similar.

How was Joe supposed to help anyone if there was no one left?

He wiped the falling snow from his sleeves, the white gone grey as it felt. Too many ashes in the air, too many bodies burned that the city was covered in it. Even the snow couldn't hide the grim reality of death.

And yet, he would survive this. For all their suffering, his family would too. They would walk away from the city and on to the next while so many others were already laid out in the ground before they'd even had a true chance to life. How was any of that fair? It felt like some cruel joke to be surrounded by so much death and untouched by it.

Well.

Not truly.

His feet had carried him to the docks, as they'd grown the habit of doing. After years and then some, this had become his neighborhood. Now, even the water seemed grey, and Yusuf couldn't look at the water without thinking about bodies.

That was not his destination. For just as long as he'd been here, his second home had been a quiet corner just off the main dock. Kafe.

The window shutters were broken. The front door did not hang open, but it swung without resistance when he pushed it open. The place had been gutted. Tables were overturned and porcelain shards littered the floor.

His oil lamps were missing, the decorative glass lanterns they'd ordered from across the sea. Quynh had picked those specifically.

He'd thought he'd be ready for this. In all his long life, home had meant wandering from one end of the world to the other. They'd never taken the time to put down roots or to try and build something. He never realized how much it would hurt to try and to watch it crumble.

There were ghosts in this place, the lingering sound of music and Nicky's laughter. They'd danced here in each other's arms. The smell of warm coffee and spice, the whispers of gossip from neighbors. Joe slowly picked up one of the chairs and set it upright, picking up the pieces. It didn't matter now, Kafe was gone, but he couldn't leave it like this.

Would it always be this way? Thousands of years of watching everything they touched fall apart? All this suffering that they couldn't even stop.

Joe picked up the last unbroken porcelain cup and mourned. This had been something good. Even if it didn't last, they'd made something good.

There was too much to try and hold on to. In the end, Yusuf kept nothing.

At the docks, the same waited for him. No new deliveries, no vendors touting their wares, no shoppers making their rounds. There was no one to stop him, no one to even talk to him. 

The stillness was only broken when he finally found the flagellants. No one else dared to stay out in the streets except for them. The grey snow around them was packed down from dragging footsteps and stained in blood. A few lay in the street leading to the empty church, still and unmoving. Yusuf wasn't sure if they were exhausted or if they'd died from their wounds and the cold and the plague. 

Their God had not accepted their suffering. Their blood hadn't stopped the plague. Nicky would have been distraught. 

He dug the porcelain cup from his pocket, perfect and delicate. His last piece of his Kafe. With a sigh, he slipped it into the chapped, bruised hands of the nearest flagellant sitting dejectedly against the stone wall of the nearest building. "Sell this, it should be worth at least a meal."

He left before the man could answer.

_________________________________________________

Yusuf dragged himself through the front door, and stopped, his heart threatening to burst through his chest. Standing at the counter, staring at a cup of tea with intent, was Nicolo. He was in threadbare pants and a long wool tunic that had been worn to barely anything. His hair was a tousled mess, but he was absolutely lovely.

A sound like a sob escaped him, and he rushed to his husband.

"Hey." Nicolo was flushed, shirt damp from sweat but even with his feverish eyes, he still seemed to recognize Joe and gave him a smile. "Any luck?"

"No, it's...no." Joe soothed him, offering him a glass of water and fussing until Nicolo lay back down on his mattress. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible." He tried to joke, laughing just a bit until it turned into a wet, ragged cough. Joe could only kneel helplessly at his side until Nicolo sighed, getting his breath back and reaching for Joe's hand. "You tried though, that's what mattered."

Joe wanted to argue, but he couldn't when his Nicky was so weak. "There's no one left, everyone who could run has gone. Everyone else, well. At least the flagellants are done. I think even they realize it's useless now."

A shadow passed over Nicolo's face, a flicker of anger and something else in his glassy eyes. Regret? "Those fools."

"Why do they bother you so much, my love? They are useless, yes, but they haven't harmed anyone but themselves."

"Because I understand them." Nicolo passed a weak hand over his forehead. "I remember believing that pain was the only way towards faith. I remember being so _afraid_ that I gave into that hatred and violence and blood because I thought it was righteous. Look where it got me? They only have their own blood on their hands, but how long until it's someone else? That kind of hate...I wish I could show them what I've learned." He let out a wet, tired sigh, and though his smile was faint, it was honest. With too much intent, he said, "Sometimes you just need someone to show you that love is the truth."

"Oh Nico..." Yusuf started, stroking down his side. "That was all you. We're different people now because we wanted to be."

"Yes, but I don't think I would like who could have been without meeting you." Nicolo managed a smile, too tired for Yusuf's liking but all the same. His eyes were so very bright, and all the more so when he was worried. "It hurts more because we're so alike. Sometimes I wonder if they were right, if this plague is divine."

Yusuf shook his head. "Long ago, I decided to believe in a God who was kind."

But Nicolo met his gaze, and they both knew he had the same doubts.

"It's going to be alright, my love." Nicolo smiled and offered Yusuf his hand, trailing his fingers down the side of his beloved's face. "We just need to get off the ship."

"The ship?"

"Yes, it's too unsteady in the storm."

"Oh, Nico." Yusuf sighed, watching Nicolo slip away into another fever dream. He did his best to coax him to drink, dribbling a little cool, clean water between his lips. If only he had something more to offer. Some medicine, some ice, something, anything. There had to be something out there that could stop this affliction and save his family.

Movement caught the corner of his eye and he turned, seeing Quynh leaning heavily against the door frame.

"Hey, you shouldn't be up. You need your rest." He started before he saw the blade in her hand.

Her voice was a low, ragged wheeze, twisted by swelling so tight, Yusuf almost didn't recognize it. "What are you doing here?" She took a step closer, then another. "You shouldn't be here."

He'd forgotten, in the years of peace and the months of quiet suffering, that he'd never truly met anyone who could move like his sisters. Quynh was a viper in a fight.

She lunged with terrifying precision, nothing but the toll of the disease and hard won reflexes kept Yusuf alive. He stumbled backwards, her blade coming down with smooth precision, and as he made to plant his feet, her heel made contact with her gut and sent him tumbling into a cabinet.

"Quynh!" Yusuf gasped.

It was nearly swallowed up by Nicolo's coughing fit, the sound of Yusuf's name lodged in his throat. Yusuf couldn't let him get involved, let him get hurt. "What are you doing?"

"Get out of my home!"

"It's me, it's Yusuf!" He scrambled backwards, trying to stay out of her reach. She was on him before he could finish his words, blade singing through the air with deadly accuracy. He looked around for his own weapon, set carefully by the door.

He couldn't. He wouldn't hurt her.

"I won't let you!" She snarled, words tumbling out in some ancient tongue Yusuf had never learned. He set the table over, driving her back for just a moment as Nicolo cried out for him. No, he couldn't let him be a target. Quynh didn't realize what she was doing, they could both get hurt if he didn't shut this down soon.

"Quynh!" Andy's voice rang through the small house, strong even after her illness, and enough that they all froze instinctively.

Quynh recovered first. She always did, and she slammed Yusuf into the wall, pinned him on the edge of her sword like a butterfly under a needle, and Yusuf's entire body trembled beneath the pain.

"You won't hurt them," she whispered, and he could smell the rot on her breath, the poison bled by the plague and made his insides twist. "I won't... I won't let..."

He wanted to scream, and wanted to tell her it was okay. They were okay. All would be right, in time. They had so much time.

But Yusuf's eyes were heavy. She stated at something over his shoulder, still breathing like a bull. It's okay. It's okay, I love you. We're safe.

Quynh pulled out her sword, and Yusuf crumpled to the ground.

When he opened his eyes, the house was dark and chilly because no one had set the fire. Unmoving and exhausted, Quynh laid splayed out across the couch, her sword still in arm's reach. Joe didn't notice if she was breathing because he wouldn't accept anything else.

______________________________________________

Joe put Quynh back to bed, tucking her into her pallet beside Andy without a word. His mouth tasted like blood and his body hurt, but he was alive. Always still alive. All he could do was pick up the pieces and keep going.

Andy touched his hand before he pulled away, a wordless thanks and a reminder. I'm here.

He was grateful for all that it hurt.

When Quynh was safe, he returned to Nicolo's side, dropping down beside him and carefully peeling off his ruined, bloodstained shirt. He'd have to find a way to repair the hole, they couldn't replace anything until the ports reopened.

"Nico, are you with me?" He murmured, curling up against his love. "She's asleep again, it's okay."

No answer, and Joe didn't want to notice. He settled into bed, wrapped an arm around his partner's waist and pulled him against his chest. The sour smell of sweat made his head turn. They'd done this a thousand times before. They would do it every night, for the rest of their alives that they were allowed.

Nicolo was fine. He would always be fine. Yusuf raised his hand to settle over his lover's chest, where his heart had gone still, and the last threads of his control came undone

It wasn't fair.

None of this was fair.

This was supposed to be a home for them, a safe place. A place they could have started over. They'd had everything for one brief and shining moment, and then one by one it had all turned to ash.

"Nicolo." He whispered, voice ragged in grief. "Please, Nicolo. Not you, I can't lose you too. Wake up. I need you, wake up."

The body lay still in his arms, no gasp of air or shock of life as Nicolo healed. There was just...nothing. A stillness that terrified Yusuf to his core and always the question that he couldn't bear to answer: What if this time Nicolo didn't wake up?

What if this loss was permanent?

What would he do?

"Nico, oh Nico." He rocked the body, pleading with his God and Nicolo's to listen. "I can't do this without you. You have to come back to me, love. Please, I need you."

The words tumbled free, at first clinging to a sense of prayer and reverence, until the minutes slipped away, sand in an hourglass that Yusuf couldn't turn over. They stole the air from the room and filled his blood with glass, and Yusuf swallowed a breath that could turn into a swab.

I have forgotten what life is without him.

His tongue tripped over his prayers, and he bowed his head into the hollow of his lover's throat. More vulnerable and more precious than any gem or metal, but so so still.

"Please. It's not enough. Please. We have so much more to do."

He curled himself around Nicolo and cried. For him, for Quynh and Andy, for the city and all those they'd lost. For a dream dead before it even had a chance to life. For himself, the last one left to bear it alone. He sobbed, tears splattering down on Nicolo's still body, weeping until he was empty and exhausted, paralyzed by his grief.

In the end, there was only the soft crackle of the dying fire and the unnatural silence that had consumed their home just like all the others in Genoa. He was the only one alive left in the whole world.

It wasn't fair.

Yusuf cradled Nicolo to him, rocking back and forth gently in a numb, mindless sorrow. He hadn't been alone in centuries, he couldn't do it now.

The sound of glass smashing in the other room finally roused him and Yusuf looked around, confused at first before groping blindly for his sword.

It took him a moment too long to find it. He couldn't bring himself to pull away.

Let them. He thought, sharp and cruel. _Let them._

What more was there? What could they do that the world hadn't? Another crash and a heavy thump.

Yusuf got to his feet.

The sword dragged across the ground like he'd forgotten it was there, and the house was still too silent because Nicolo was no longer there.

He turned towards the main chamber. The winter air carried through the broken window. His breath misted.

There was a man, half in their pantry. His face was ashen, eyes too wide gone wide with guilt. He wore the first smattering of whiskers, was old enough easily to have his own son. Yusuf did not know him.

The man scrambled, grabbing a knife from their kitchen table with shaking hands and pointed at Yusuf in a pitiful display of bravado. As if Yusuf couldn't have killed him a dozen times already even if the man hadn't been more than a starving pile of bones wrapped in rags.

"Stay back!"

"Or else what?" Yusuf snarled. "You'll kill me?"

"Yes!" The man's voice waivered but the knife didn't.

Yusuf's rage was blinding and he advanced, knocking the table out from between them. "You dare? In my own home? How much left do I have to give you people? You've took everything of value that we ever had and you still ask for more. You're nothing, mayflies dead in the blink of an eye. Your lives are nothing compared to mine. I have stopped wars, I've saved nations, I'll live forever and you? You'll barely make it out of this decade if you're lucky." He snarled, batting the knife away with a flick of his wrist. "And it's still not enough for you, is it? You have to invade this last shadow of what could have been my home, but I guess I'm not allowed to even have that. How much more do I owe?"

He was shouting now, but not at the man. He railed against the universe, daring God himself to answer.

The man stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and landing hard. He brought his hands up like he could block a scimitar's blow. He was as defenseless as he'd been with his paltry blade.

Yusuf couldn't look at him. His shoulders were trembling. With misguided shame, he realized he was crying.

_We just wanted to help._ He thought, and for a long, long time, it took all his energy to stay standing, his knees locked with pure stubbornness.

All they'd wanted was to help.

Slowly, he shuffled towards the pantry, and pulled out a small hemp bag, and poured in some if their dried oats. There was precious little left to spare, but no one ate as much anymore, and Yusuf's appetite was fading by the day.

He dropped the bag on the thief who grabbed it and scrambled to his feet. "W-what?"

This was what they did. Through all the pain and the unendurable loss, they helped people. These people whose lives were so short and uncertain. It was the reason they kept living. Nicolo always believed that there was a guiding hand in everything they did, Quynh was too stubborn to give up on anyone, and Andy knew that kindness was the only thing that kept humanity together over an endless history.

And him? Yusuf believed in people, even at their worst. Especially then.

He sighed, tired as the rage drained away. They did this because they chose to do this. It would have been easy to turn what they were into power and violence, but all Yusuf had wanted was to try and make things better. It was all any of them wanted.

"Go on." He said, almost gently. "It's what we have."

"You- you're." His lower lip trembled as he pointed at Yusuf, looking somewhere over his shoulder.

The man looked at him like he was seeing a ghost. Then he grabbed the sack and scrambled out the door, clumsy with the latch. He didn't stop, not until he was out on the front yard, and dared a look back.

Yusuf pulled his coat tighter around himself, and swallowed down a sigh. He set about closing the door, and fastening the shutters into place.

"Yusuf?" A voice called from the other room and his heart lept, turning back and racing to Nicolo's side.

"I am here! I am here my love. You came back to me."

"Always." There was that sweet smile, tired and still edged in pain, but Yusuf pulled his Nico into his arms and gave thanks.

______________________________________________________

They left Genoa two weeks later, risking the frozen roads cluttered with refugees. The plague had taken its toll, but in the end, even it Black Death had been unable to keep them. It hadn't been their time.

They mourned for could have been and what almost was, for thousands of lives taken they couldn't save, lost without reason or mercy.

And for the few they had.

Just one life, small and seemingly ordinary, but Yusuf chose to have hope. He would choose hope every time.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative Title: Where Yusuf opens a coffee shop, and loses everything along the way.


End file.
